


Huddling for Warmth

by Maroucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon - Book, Dubious Consent, F/M, Huddling For Warmth, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-26 23:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15673791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maroucia/pseuds/Maroucia
Summary: The title says it all. PWP.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try my hand at this old classic trope. I hope you enjoy. Part 2 is coming soon.

Never had Sandor been so scared in his life than at that accursed moment he’d seen the ice break under the little bird’s feet. He didn’t even have time to open his mouth and yell a warning that her small form had already disappeared under the surface of the frigid water of the lake. They were nearing Winterfell after nearly two moons of travelling and with the weather being so cold and harsh in these parts, walking on the lake had seemed perfectly safe to him. Sandor would never have guessed that at the centre of it, under the snow lay only a thin crust of ice, that inches under Sansa’s feet, water ran freely. He should’ve been more wary seeing as he was a stranger in these lands. How stupid of him to have allowed her to leave the edge of the forest. And now, here he was in this bloody fix thanks to his carelessness.   

Things could’ve been far worse, there was no denying it. At least, Sandor had managed to grab her little hand in time. Lying flat on his stomach over the ice, he had pulled her out of the water, agonizingly slowly. Water had gorged into the girl’s woollen clothes and fur cloak, making her much heavier than usual. Despite the cold, Sandor had sweated like a pig under his many layers as he listened to the strident noise of ice cracking under his weight. Yet by some miracle, they hadn’t both ended up at the bottom of the lake and he’d succeeded in pulling her out of the water.

Sandor had known that while he may have saved her from drowning, Sansa was still far from out of danger. She might very well still die if the coldness of her clothes and skin managed to reach her bones. And indeed, the shivers had begun mere seconds later and only increased as he carried her away from the surface of the frozen lake. 

The memory of that empty little cabin they had passed by not so long before had quickly come back to him. He needed to get Sansa to it, but not before having stripped her from her sodden clothes. The girl had been too scared and cold to resist or be embarrassed - or so it had seemed - and Sandor had been too panic-stricken to harden at the sight of her nakedness, which certainly said something about the gravity of the situation. In a frenzy, he had wrapped her nude, quivering body in his cloak, installed her before him over Stranger and rode to the cabin as fast as he could with the little bird’s mare in tow.

In his youth, Sandor had been taught by a knight he had squired for during the war how to save from a certain death a person who had fallen into icy water. First, you had to strip them, which Sandor had done already, and then you had to undress as well, for nothing could warm up a body better than the heat of another body. There had been no time to think this over when they arrived at the cabin, no time to light a fire either. Sandor had done what he knew he had to in order to save Sansa and, after having stretched both of their bedrolls over it, he had laid her on the wooden pallet, taken off his own clothes as fast as he could and rejoined her under all of their furs and covers. He’d been horrified by her state, had feared to lose her. Her normally luminescent pale skin had turned ashen, her lips violet and she was so cold, so bloody cold... 

“Stay with me, little bird,” he had bid her. “We didn’t go through all we did, escape from the Vale and travel across this bloody desolated realm, just for you to die at Winterfell’s threshold.” If she were to perish as abruptly and meaninglessly as that, she might as well have stayed with Littlefinger where she had been sheltered from the element at least, Sandor had thought desperately.  _ It might have been better that she never accepted my help, that I never offered her my sword... _

Her sole answer to his pleas was the constant chattering of her teeth and the long whimpers she let out, sometimes. The girl had been as weak as could be and yet, had shaken so violently that Sandor had had to still her even as he stroked his hands all over her glacial skin. He did it for hours it seemed and while he avoided her breasts, arse and cunt as best he could, a part of him had been far too aware of the way the tip of her tits had rubbed against him and the hair between her legs had tickled his stomach from time to time. Still, his fear for her life had been strong at the time and kept his mind from wandering too far in any indecent direction. Unlike now...

After her shacking had subsided, Sandor had finally been able to leave her long enough to build a fire in the small hearth at the centre of the cabin with the wood that was piled by its side. And then gradually, she had gotten better and warmer to the touch.

“Thank you, Sandor. You saved my life,” she had whispered to him not long after the sun had set. 

Her eyes had glistened in the darkness of the cabin and Sandor had held her against him afterwards, so fucking relieved he might have teared up had he been a weaker man. They’d fallen asleep not long afterwards, both of them exhausted by all of the emotions they had lived, Sansa snuggled against his chest. 

When Sandor had awoken on the following morning, not so long ago, the first thing he had grown aware of was the softness of the girl’s skin against him. Sansa had been breathing steadily and with it, the arm he had around her had moved up and down ever so slightly. Long curls of her silky auburn hair had danced around his face as he breathed, tickling his nose, yet instead of taking his distance, he had approached his face to her and inhaled in that sweet scent of hers, shutting his eyes. It had been a relief to note there was no more shivering. She seemed so peaceful in her sleep, out of danger.

The thought was laughable to say the least and Sandor would have snorted at the memory of it had he not feared it might rouse her. The girl was in no danger of dying anymore, that was true enough, yet for a maiden as beautiful as her to be nude and unconscious in a bed with a man like him was in no way what anyone might have called  _ safe _ . As most men, Sandor always woke up with a tension and today was no exception. Often, he thought of the little bird as he took care of it, had done it even as she lay not so far from him lately. Only in those instances, they’d never shared blankets…

As Sandor had slowly grown awake and aware of her curves against him, he had felt his erection become increasingly stiff. At first, he’d tried to ignore it, but he’d come to terms with that fact that it was impossible by now, not with her being so impossibly near and unclad. The little bird was sleeping on her side with her back to him, her arse all but pressed against his swollen shaft. Sandor was sure he had never been so hard of his life. His cock had become this aching, pulsing thing standing solidly between them and he longed to grab her by the hips and rub it hard between the cheeks of her arse...

Biting at his lip, Sandor lifted his head up slightly. While it was still early, he could see her well enough in the wan morning light. Her body was covered with furs up to her shoulders, its shape visible under the thickness of them. Sandor wished he could remove them all from her and admire her flawless young body. She’d be a feast for the eyes, he was certain of it. Hells, he’d seen her naked yesterday, undressed her himself even, only the situation had been far too dire and urgent for him to appreciate it in any way. Now though, things were different and he could recall the memory of her tits and of those pretty red curls she had between her thighs without any guilt...

As if it had a mind of its own, the arm he had under him shifted and his hand solidly grabbed his cock. The sensation was so intense it almost hurt. Sandor groaned lowly in his throat , shutting his eyes for a moment, and started moving his closed first up and down his length, slowly. He kept his movement as discreet as possible in order not to disturb Sansa, didn’t even remove the arm he had around her for fear that it would interrupt her sleep. 

Had Sandor been smart, he’d have put a stop to this nonsense at once and turned around to fuck his hand in silence - or even better, get out of the cabin and find himself a tree to lean on as he did his dirty deed. This was some risky business he was involving himself in, yet how was he supposed to turn away from the little bird when she smelled so sweet and her skin was so smooth? He couldn’t do it, and thus he kept at it, his movement getting wider, freer. 

Then without willing it, he accidently slapped her arse very lightly with his cock. She made a little noise, but to his relief, didn’t wake up.  _ Seven Hells, _ he mused, his breathing coming in laboured. Cold sweat was covering his brow, yet somehow, his cock grew even harder. It was utterly reckless of him, insane even, still the next thing he knew, Sandor was doing it again, the gesture perfectly intentional this time around. Sansa didn’t so much as make a sound and so he repeated the motion, again and again, until with each of his strokes, his shaft hit her pert, little behind. Never too hard. She was still asleep and he’d rather she remained as much.

****

What first brought Sansa back to reality was the constant movement5 she felt behind her and the sound of heavy breathing in her ear. Unnerved, she stayed motionless and silent as she tried to make sense of her situation. Her confusion was overwhelming and for a few seconds, she didn’t even recall where she was and knew even less who the man behind her might be. Gradually though, the events of yesterday afternoon came back to her and she relaxed slightly. The memory of the freezing water of the lake, of how it had swallowed her whole and sucked the breath out of her was terrifying. She would have drowned if not for the Hound.

_ Sandor always saves me _ , she thought. Agreeing to his proposition had been wise, but Sansa had never doubted it. She had not hesitated to take him in her service when he’d offered to help her escape from the Vale. He’d promised to protect her with his life if she was to accept and already, he had proved himself a dutiful and worthy sworn shield.

After having pulled her out of the bitterly cold water, Sandor had done what he had to in order to keep her from losing any more body heat and then help her regain some. Sansa would have blushed to find herself unclothed before him in any other circumstance and she’d averted her gaze uneasily when he stripped bare as well. His hands on her had been warm and his muscles as solid as stone. To be nestled against him had seemed awfully intimate, still Sansa had known that it was necessary, that there was nothing more to it.

This morning though, as she listened to his hoarse breathing and felt his arm so tense around her, things didn’t seem so straightforward anymore. Such proximity woke an odd, anxious fluttering in her stomach… The Hound seemed agitated, restless, and the wooden pallet they rested on creaked every now and then under him. What could he be doing?  _ Oh, gods, _ Sansa thought, as she tried to convince herself her instincts were wrong. He couldn’t very well be… be… No, this was absurd. She had to be mistaken! He wouldn’t do  _ that _ , not while she was supposedly slumbering in his arms.

But then even as she was trying to rationalise his incessant fumbling, he slapped her on the buttock with something _very_ _hard._ Sansa let out a small cry and bit at her lip to muffle it. _It was his manhood,_ she realised in shock. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pretended like she was still asleep, her heart hammering in her chest. 

There was no denying the truth anymore, especially as he repeated the motion, over and over again. By the Maiden, but it seemed  _ huge _ ... 

Sansa was aghast that he could do such a thing while they shared blankets. He even had his arm around her by the Seven! On top of that, the fact that he included her in this made it quite obvious she was the cause of his arousal. The notion was a bit alarming, especially seeing the vulnerable position she was in. What was she supposed to do? There was no simple way out of this. By now, he seemed pretty confident that she would never wake up and kept brushing his shaft to her cheek with each of his strokes, the sensation of the large and thick thing against her tightening the knot in her lower belly so much that her centre pulsed rhythmically.

It was perhaps better that she let him finish what he was doing and then, pretend like naught had happened. How awkward it would be if he was to realise she was awake? Sansa wasn’t sure how they would deal with it afterwards. The mere idea of it made her nervous and incited her to stay as motionless as she could and keep her eyes squeezed shut.

Yet suddenly, the arm he had around her shifted and he began touching her breasts, very lightly. Sansa’s breath caught in her throat at the feel of his calloused fingers on her, even as warmth pooled down her belly all the way to the junction of her thighs. His touch grew firmer and soon, Sandor was moulding her breasts and pinching lightly at her nipples, teasing them in the most maddening fashion possible. His hand was so large, he could easily engulf her breasts in it even though they were by no means small. With his touch, Sansa was getting pushed against his torso, his body like a wall of muscles behind her and his strong, musky scent enveloping her completely. 

Sansa could sense herself growing flush and lightheaded. The pulsing in her belly had reached her woman’s place and the sensation was so acute, she was losing herself in it. Without willing it, she arched her back and moaned, this time loud and clear, and all of the Hound’s movements abruptly came to a halt.

Sansa opened her eyes at once, dread rising in her.  _ Seven help me… _ she mused, unsure of what to expect. 

****


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part 2! I hope you all enjoy! :)

Sandor had been astonished when he first saw the little bird in the Vale after all those years. While the girl he had known in King’s Landing had been undeniably beautiful, the woman she had become was somehow even more breathtaking. She’d changed, was taller, curvier, more confident… and those tits, Seven Hells, how he had longed to touch them. Thus this morning, Sandor did not resist when the impulse came. The temptation was too great. He would only brush them with his fingers, he told himself. A foolish decision if ever there was one. They felt too perfect in his hand for him to keep himself in check. Without realising it, his touch grew more insistent in a question of seconds.

“Aah” he heard her moan even as he was playing with her hard little buds

His heart jumping in his chest, Sandor halted in both his exploration of her tits and the stroking of his cock, feeling the girl’s frame grow stiff against him. Wincing, he propped himself up on his elbow and flipped her on her back to see that she was wide awake, her eyes large and round. 

“Shit,” he rasped, looking down at her with eyes just as wide.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, but then Sandor narrowed his eyes at her. “Little bird... for how long have you been awake?”

She opened her mouth as if to speak, yet didn’t utter a word. Her cheeks and chest had taken the same colouring as her pretty red hair and she looked shamefaced, same as a child who’d just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. 

Sandor snorted dryly. “Long enough to realise what I was doing, I wager,” he filled in for he, a sneer twisting his lips. “And yet, you didn’t say a word to stop me… Why?”

Clearly at a lost, Sansa hesitated for an instant. “I… I wasn’t sure of... of what was going on at first,” she breathed.

Sandor almost laughed at that. “For the fist few bloody seconds perhaps. It escaladed pretty quickly: maid or not, you’re not so innocent as to not have understood what I was up to.” He grew silent then, all too aware of the way she laid just under him and of how their skins touched his in places. It would be so easy to lower himself over her and resume touching her everywhere… “Were you scared?” he asked instead.

“A little,” Sansa admitted in a murmur, but the guilty spark that passed in her eyes before she averted them said otherwise.

That gave Sandor pause. For a quiet instant, he studied her, feeling the hardness of his cock twitch between them.  _ What if she’s not scared at all, dog? What if she enjoyed your attention and has just been too bloody well raised to admit it? _ It was probably preposterous of him to even consider a highborn lady like her could take any sort of pleasure to being humped on the arse by her ugly old dog, yet in his state of arousal, Sandor simply couldn’t think clearly anymore. No matter how absurd it may be, the idea was too appealing to discount.

“Did you like it?” he asked lowly, his voice more gravelly than ever. Even to his ear, he sounded like a starved man.

Sansa gazed up at him in surprise, her chest heaving and mouth agape, but didn’t answer.

“You did, didn’t you? You’re just too damned proper to say it,” he whispered, a small smirk spreading on his lips. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll keep at it then. Unless you tell me you don’t want me to, that is. I’d obey, of course, and you know it. I’m but your loyal dog, I told you as much before we’ve left the Vale.” 

With that, he gathered a handful of furs and covers and threw them all away. The girl squeaked in surprise and then, groaned when he circled her breasts with his hands and took one stiff nipple in his mouth.

****

The Hound’s words kept replaying in Sansa’s mind.   _ He told me he would stop this nonsense if I only asked, _ she reminded herself, over and over again. While it may seem strange seeing the liberties he had taken already with her, she did trust he would do as he had said, that he would not continue if she only spoke up. So why was she not asking him, no,  _ ordering him _ to stop? She wanted to do it, truly did, yet the words stayed stuck in her throat and all that escaped her lips were moans, whimpers and gasps. 

His mouth was so good on her, his touch unexpectedly gentle... Sansa had always known men were attracted by a woman’s breasts; she’d seen countless knights and men-at-arms grope serving women over the years when they thought she wasn’t looking or were too drunk to care, however, that such caresses could be enjoyable for a woman came as a surprise to her. There was no denying it though, it was intoxicating even. Her nipples were so sensitive and with Sandor’s ministration, ripples of bliss were sent down her loins. She was curious about those feelings she had, no matter how inappropriate this was, and that was probably what kept her from uttering a word of protest.

Both of Sandor’s hands were on her breasts, moulding them just firmly enough even as his greedy mouth sucked at her nipples. He was balancing his weight on his elbow, his muscled body brushing against hers and his very big and hard member touching her thigh. Then after a time, the Hound lowered his head and moved away from her, his wet mouth trailing down her stomach. With strong hands, he started to open her legs, but Sansa clenched them close. 

“Don’t!” she let out in sudden fear. She tried to twist away from him, yet his hold on her was too firm.

“Little bird, don’t be afraid,” Sandor whispered to her, his voice so very raw. Staring at her from the end of the bed where he kneeled, he was panting like the dog he claimed he was, his hands still on her knees. His scars looked gruesome in the wan morning light, Sansa noticed, yet she had grown used to them by now. Once, very long ago, she had even touched them with her hand even as green flames rose in the night sky. “I’ll not take your maidenhead. I promise I won’t,” he added , the word calm yet urgent. “I just want to... to have a taste of  _ you _ . I’ll leave you intact, as if you had never been touched, you have my word on that.” He waited in silence for her to speak, his eyes both wild and pleading.

_ To have a taste of me? _ Sansa repeated inwardly. Randa had told her about a thing men could do to women with their mouth to pleasure them. Would he really… really do  _ that _ to her? The pressure in her lower belly increased at the thought and her pulse hastened.

Having probably read her silence as a ‘yes’, Sandor readjusted the hold he had on her knees and parted her legs. This time, Sansa barely resisted.

A grunt escaped the Hound’s lips as his stare fell on the red curls that grew at the juncture of her thighs. Sansa was mortified, yet a part of her was fascinated by the strange gleam she saw in his eyes. That her body could put him in such a state was sort of… what?  _ Thrilling _ ?

Bowing over her, Sandor approached his face to her most private part, his lips and tongue delicately caressing the inside of her folds just as soon. Sansa gasped and shook, yet the man circled her thighs with his hands to keep her well in place before his mouth. 

Sansa could barely believe what was happening. While at the Eyrie, she had often tried to picture how it would feel to be kissed by the Hound again if they were ever to be reunited. Never would she have dared imagine that while they would indeed cross path eventually, his next kiss would be not on her lips but on her lady’s part. 

This was so base, it ought to repulse her. He was acting the dog indeed, lapping at her so very eagerly, like she was some sort of delicacy, something to be savoured lengthily. Having his head between her thighs was unbelievingly odd. Sansa did her best not to glance down at him for fear that she might meet his gaze.  _ I should tell him to stop, _ she thought even as pleasant shivers ran up and down her abdomen like the warm currents of an ocean. Once again though, the sole sounds that came out of her mouth were moans.

****

Sandor had never tasted anything more delicious than the little bird’s virgin little cunt. And the sounds she made, by the buggering Others, it was driving him mad with lust. He’d dreamt of her in his bed for longer than he cared to admit, had always craved to claim her as his, and while this was not everything he had wanted, it was certainly far more than he deserved. 

He’d promised to leave her a maiden and he would not betray her on that. Although Sandor wanted nothing more than to dip his forefinger deeply in her, he resisted. Even with his tongue he did not dare enter that sweet cleft of hers. All he did was flip it over her folds and that small nub of flesh women took their pleasure from.  He would not ask more of her. It was enough that she had not kicked him out of bed from the moment she’d caught him fucking his hand and groping her. No incredibly instead, she had allowed him to stay and continue, though her agreement had been implicit at best.  _ But she has not told you to stop, dog. She has not,  _ he repeated to himself. 

Sandor would not waste his luck, nor would he give her a chance to change her mind. He needed to make her know ecstasy, to keep her dizzy and breathless and confused until she reached completion and then perhaps that, if he was lucky, she would have enjoyed it so much that she would want him to service her that way again. 

The idea was certainly ludicrous - Sandor would have sneered at himself for considering such a thing in any other circumstances - yet now that he had her wiggling under his hands, that his face was buried between her legs, the fantasy didn’t seem so farfetched. How perfect would his life be if he could be both the little bird’s sworn shield and bed warmer...  _ A real dream come true _ . The girl would never need to touch him herself. Sandor would not ask that of her, not that it’d be his place anyway. Even if she only ever allowed him to sleep on the floor by her bed, he would not complain and still readily kneel before her whenever she commanded it.

To Sandor’s utter pride, all of his efforts seemed to pay off. The little bird was breathing hard, mewing and squirming with each of his meticulous caresses. His forearm flat on the mattress, bearing his weight, he was busy massaging her breasts with his free hand, his tongue incessantly swirling around her sensitive little nub. In all of that though, his throbbing cock was left unattended and he had no choice but to thrust it against the bedroll as best he could in order to alleviate some of his unbearable tension. Yet it didn’t matter one bit to him. He would take care of himself later on.

Lowering the hand he had on her perfect, rounded tits, Sandor brought it over her mound and removed his mouth from her. The little bird uttered a small noise, of complaint at his withdrawal he hoped, yet he quickly replaced it with his thumb, moving it in slow yet steady circles. His stare fixed on his task, he listened as her cries grew louder, throatier.  _ Seven Hells... she loves it, _ he thought headily.

Her folds were slick, so very slick, and his thumb and forefinger slid over her as he kept teasing her sweet pearl. Sandor wanted nothing more than to fuck her with his tongue. He couldn’t very well break her maidenhead with it, could he? Gods, he was so clueless where maidens were concerned, he didn’t want to risk it. Yet another idea came to him as he gazed down her pink cunt, so prettily opened before him, and glimpsed what lay just under. In a fit of burning hot desire, Sandor lifted her hips slightly with a hand under her upper thigh and licked her between the arse cheeks, his cock twitching under him. 

He had time for just a couple of flips of his tongue, his thumb and forefinger never leaving her nub, before Sansa stirred and whined in protest. “Sandor! No!”

Sandor didn’t want to test her limits. What if she asked him to stop altogether? It was enough that she was tolerating this. “As you wish, little bird,” he said, his voice no more than a raspy murmur. Obediently, he lowered her onto the bedroll, his mouth back on her cunt just as soon.

****

As the Hound resumed his ministrations, Sansa tried to chase the thought of what he had just done from her mind. His misplaced fervour was embarrassing: what appeal could find to  _ that _ part of her? He was such a beast, no better than an animal! Yet for all of that, his fingers, tongue and lips were doing such wonders to her that it was easy not to dwell on it - so long as he didn’t try it again. 

To be fair, that he stopped was even the last thing she wanted. If she had not been so well-bred, she might have gone as far as to beg him to go on. Yet instead, she clutched at the bedroll and let out groans and other meaningless sounds. While pleasurable, touching herself as she had sometimes done at night while at the Vale had never brought Sansa such elation. She felt as if she was just on the edge of something, something she yearned to plunge in head first. Would Sandor bring her to her  _ climax _ , as Randa called it? Sansa certainly hoped so. From what she was experiencing already, it promised to be beyond exhilarating.

And then suddenly, it hit her so hard, she lost control of herself completely. Sansa cried out in a voice so raw and wanton, it didn’t sound like hers at all. She ought to be ashamed, she knew, yet at the time being, she couldn’t find it in her to care. There was no stopping her from living the moment fully. 

After her peak had subsided, Sansa was left totally exhausted, disoriented and giddy. Her chest heaving, she watched as Sandor rose to his knees. He was holding his member in hand, stroking it vigorously, and gazing down at her with the eyes of a madman. Sansa had not gotten to see his manhood so far, only felt it against her, and her eyes widened at the sight.  _ Seven Heavens _ , she mused.

As she gradually came back to her senses, Sansa grew aware of the unseemly position she was in. Her legs were still wide open, her swollen and moist folds exposed to the Hound’s eyes, same as if she had no shame. But she did. While the man had had his mouth on her mere instants before, she couldn’t bear his gaze anymore and went to close her thighs.

Sandor stopped her with a hand on her knee. “Don’t... let me look at it while I finish,” he said as softly as his rough voice allowed and for some reason, Sansa didn’t have in her to refuse him. Her eyes still on him, she opened her thighs wide again.

It was a scary sight that of that beast of a man, naked as on his name day, taking his pleasure as he loomed over her. His manhood was as threatening as any deadly weapon, his body huge and hairy... And Sansa was sort of scared indeed, scared and breathless and confused, but still, there was that throbbing in her core that did not seem to want to go away… 

He was frantic now; sweat beading on his skin even as his fist moved faster and faster, his stare never leaving her woman’s place. With the tips of his fingers, he was touching lightly at her lower lips, parting them faintly. Then bowing over her, he brushed her folds with the head of his manhood and let it slide against her sensitive flesh a few times. The sensation made Sansa moan again and she threw her head back, knowing fully well she ought to be frightened to have him rub his very manhood so near her precious maidenhead. With no more than a little thrust of his hips, he could enter her with his shaft and turn her purity in naught but history in the blink of an eye. Before she had time to really think it through and attempt to push him away though, he grunted, his features contorting.  Lowering himself urgently over her, he brought his member to her lower belly and spilled his seed on it in long, sticky white drops even as he groaned loudly.

“Little bird,” he breathed before letting himself fall heavily by her side

****

Nothing had ever been as beautiful to Sandor as  _ Sansa bloody Stark _ , nude in front of him with her legs wide open, her pretty pink cunt glistening with her own juice.  _ She came, _ he thought in amazement.  _ You made her come, you dirty old dog.  _

Sandor had spilled his semen on her stomach, only inches from her mound. For a crazy moment, he had considered spilling it directly on her folds, but he had thought better of it, thankfully. He was not her husband, only her shield, her servant. _I’ll serve her well, do whatever she asks..._ Sandor mused as he lay by her side, catching his breath. There was only hoping that she would want to be served that way again. _She didn’t ask me to stop, not even once._ _And she even came..._ he repeated to himself. That had to be a good sign. 

Shacking himself, Sandor sat up at on the side of the pallet and found some random garb on the floor. He used it to rub the girl’s belly clean and then, tossed the covers and furs back onto the pallet. The little bird seized them at once and covered herself. Sandor glanced at her face, his heart dropping when he saw how troubled she looked. 

“Little bird... Sansa, is everything alright?” he asked, trying to keep the genuine worry he felt from showing in his voice.

Sansa was lying on her back and she had pulled the covers up to her chin. Her stare was fixed to the ceiling, but when he spoke, she gazed down at him and nodded, a wan little smile curving her lips. “Sandor... you’re such a brute. What am I to do with you?” she said, her brow knitted in despair.

Sandor’s mouth twitched as he tried to figure if this was a true reproach or if she was teasing him. “It’s for you to decide, little bird. I’ll do whatever you ask,” he rasped, echoing his previous thought. Shifting in his position on the pallet, he twisted his torso towards her to better face her.

“Really?” she asked, clearly unconvinced, before rolling her eyes in the most unladylike manner. “You don’t seem very docile to me. I fear I may struggle with you as my shield if you keep taking such liberties with me. A dog is not supposed to lay his claim on his mistress!”

Snorting, Sandor tilted his head to the side. “But I didn’t do that, little bird. I’d say I did pretty much the bloody opposite in fact.”

“Oh and what is that?” she asked.

“I showed you the extent of my devotion.”

“Your devotion?” the girl repeated, her brow creasing with doubt.

“Don’t you mock me, Sansa, you know it’s true,” Sandor insisted. Propping himself on a hand, he lowered himself until he hovered over her. “I’m devoted to you, have always been. Why do you think I came all the way to the Vale from the moment I heard of your presence at the Eyrie? Why do you think I suffered through all those damned miles of cold and snow? I don’t give a rat’s arse about the North or Winterfell and you know it. It’s all because of  _ you _ . You’re the queen I worship. I’ll do as you say, whatever it is. I would’ve stopped if you had asked, I did not lie about that. I hope you don’t doubt it.”

The little bird looked at him in silence, but said nothing to contradict him, her eyes big and blue and beautiful, her luscious lips set in the smallest of smiles.

“It’s for you to decide what happens next, little bird, but you know that a dog will never refuse a treat from its master. And sometimes, a dog will try to get the treat it longs for without asking beforehand, the sly bastard. It’s up to the master to stop the dog, to teach it to behave. I’ll learn to behave if you train me well, Sansa, I’m sure I will, but perhaps you’ll need be patient.”

For a second or two, Sansa stayed silent, but then, she burst out laughing and Sandor was sure he’d never heard any lovelier music. He flashed a grin at her, satisfied with himself. Things were looking pretty good for him.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [В поисках тепла](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17168111) by [Kfafa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kfafa/pseuds/Kfafa)




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